They don’t let you lay flowers in the winters,
but as the ground warms with spring,
the garden of granite blooms again.
The winter is over,
and the snow has uncovered the stone.
It is hard to see that stone as I walk by;
it is hard to not acknowledge not what it is,
but what it means.
And so we decorate it when we can.
But it is not because we are trying to distract ourselves from it,
it is only because the colors of the flower pedals remind us that there is life in death.
There is love in passing,
and while it is hard,
I know that below the stone is only a body.
The flowers are your spirit;
swaying in the wind,
and reminding me that you are free now.
Your spirit flows like water.
About the Poet
S.M. Moore has published a section of a novel he co-authored in a small newspaper based out of Bates College. Moore is also a regular writer for the Portland, Maine newspaper, Up Portland. His poetry is published or forthcoming in Down in the Dirt, Flora Fiction, and Literary Yard, among others.